


the issue with leather pants

by MrMundy



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Modern Tamriel, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25950586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMundy/pseuds/MrMundy
Summary: ( and, consequently, getting them off. )Fennorian takes Laurent shopping, and as a result, the days leading up to his birthday are .... complicated.
Relationships: Fennorian (Elder Scrolls)/Original Male Character(s), Fennorian/Original Male Breton Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	the issue with leather pants

**Author's Note:**

> i got really inspired for this and wrote it in like, two days, i think.
> 
> anyway laurent and fenn love each other a lot but they're too stupid to realise they feel the same way about each other
> 
> laurent exists on my blog here :
> 
> https://ariquar.tumblr.com/tagged/laurent

The source of all of Laurent’s problems start with a simple text.

“Hey, my dad wants to take you shopping with us,” it reads, innocent enough, “Something about your birthday coming up.”

Since it’s from Fennorian, Laurent jumps at the offer. He doesn’t care that it’s an offer to go shopping, doesn’t care that Fennorian explains that Verandis wants to get him a birthday gift early. It’s an offer to go somewhere with Fennorian, and, as anyone who knows Laurent well will attest, going places and running errands is fun for him. 

He’s like a dog, he’s been told, being asked if he wants to go on a walk.

So, obviously, he texts back an enthusiastic yes and gets his shoes on, excited as he waits outside his apartment building for Verandis’s car to pull up. He almost regrets waiting outside as it starts snowing and his fingers start to get colder, turning redder as he checks his phone for another text from Fennorian to tell him how far they are. Thankfully Verandis arrives in no time at all, Fennorian sitting in the passenger seat, and he hops into the already warm sports car and immediately presses his hands against the heated seat.

“Thanks,” he says, and Verandis gives him a short thumbs up before starting off once again. In front of him, Fennorian turns to catch his gaze around the seat and flashes him a bright smile.

“Cold?” Fennorian laughs, and Laurent sticks his tongue out at him.

“Do you know how much it sucks being born in the winter when everything I like happens in summertime?” Laurent says, reaching forward, over the seat. He presses his hands against either side of Fennorian’s neck, causing him to yelp. Verandis snorts out a laugh and turns his music up, making a smooth turn onto the next road in such a confident manner that Laurent only wishes he could match when he drives.

The rest of the ride is uneventful, though the snow looks like it’s starting to pile up in places that makes Laurent expect that it’s going to be hard to get anywhere by the time his birthday arrives. He expresses as such to Verandis and Fennorian both, who shrug and say that even if they can’t do anything the day of, there’s always the following weekend, right?

They stop at the mall, the parking lot already packed with others looking to be ready early for New Life coming up. While Laurent generally loves celebrating New Life with his family, he does have to admit that the packed shops and malls are a bit much - hard to find anything for anyone when there are three Pahmar-raht Khajiit arguing over which blanket they’re buying and you’re a short Breton man who just wants to get through the store.

With Verandis and Fennorian, though, it should be easier to navigate. Two Altmer can usually clear a path through a crowd of humans and shorter Elves with ease. 

He follows after the two of them as they head for the entrance, snow falling into his face. Fennorian and Verandis, with their long legs, are two steps ahead of him at a time.

“Slow down, you giants,” he says, and Fennorian laughs.

“Get longer legs,” says Verandis, not even daring to turn around to see the open-mouthed gasp Laurent wears, overdramatizing the situation.

“I can’t believe it,” he whines, “Being rude to me! On my own birthday!”

“Your birthday isn’t for another four days.” Fennorian says, turning around. Even backwards, his steps are twice as long as Laurent’s. 

“Still!” Laurent says, looking down just as Fennorian’s foot catches a patch of ice. He slips, a short yell all the warning he gives as he starts falling backward. Before he hits the ground, Verandis’s reflexes kick in and he turns, grabbing Fennorian by the arm. The momentum causes Verandis to slip as well, his legs going forward as he tumbles. Fennorian, thankfully, manages to get his footing once more on a snowy patch of ground.

Verandis, on the other hand, isn’t quite so lucky.

Laurent has seen his best friend’s dad in a number of situations, but seeing Verandis Ravenwatch, former rockstar and a generally very composed man, land directly on his ass on the pavement in front of a very public mall is new.

He can’t help the fact that he laughs. He really can’t. Fennorian makes a fuss, reaching to help Verandis up, who makes a pained face as he stands up on shaky legs.

“Are you okay?” Laurent asks between laughter, and Verandis’s brows knit together as he glares at him. All in good fun, though, if the grin on his face is any giveaway.

“Never better,” Verandis says, “Already iced it.”

Fennorian and Laurent both groan, and when Verandis finally has his footing again, they head inside.

  
  


Shopping in a busy mall near the holiday season is rough. Of course, the shop Laurent wants to check out is packed, given the fact that it’s a sports equipment store and people are buying things for the new year - new resolutions and all that, new promises that he knows people aren’t going to keep if the way his classes go every new year are any indication. A bunch of new people, and then …

Maybe the same five or six. Still, he gets paid and smaller classes are easier to instruct. 

He waves a hand when Verandis asks if he’s sure he doesn’t want to try to navigate the chaos.

“It’s alright,” Laurent says, shrugging, “Just getting out like this is fun.”

Fennorian makes a face in his direction, about to say something when Verandis guides them along the busy route to a different store. One Laurent has seen bags from numerous times in Verandis’s house, usually with things far out of Laurent’s personal price range. 

They get through the store and head for the back, the edge of the far wall being the one full of clothes he recognizes as Verandis’s style. Leather pants, rough looking shirts, jackets. The stuff he used to wear when he was big in the music industry - he thinks he sees a purposely-worn-out shirt with Verandis’s band name on it. Verandis pays it no mind and starts looking through the racks, ushering Fennorian to follow him. Laurent watches as Verandis flips through several styles of leather pants, holding them up as Fennorian stands still.

“This one,” Verandis says, handing one pair off to Fennorian, and begins looking through others. The next several minutes pass as such, with Verandis looking for the correct fit and Fennorian simply following him, until Verandis deems his selections decent and ushers them both toward the fitting rooms. 

Fennorian goes inside, and Verandis and Laurent wait on the bench outside. 

“He really wanted leather pants?” Laurent asks, raising a brow.

“He tried on a pair of my old ones,” Verandis says, inspecting his painted nails, “I figured it would be better if he got some newer ones. Less chance that they rip or wear out faster.”

“Huh.” Is all Laurent can manage. Verandis stands after a long moment, pulling his wallet from his pocket.

“Here,” he says, “Get Fennorian what he ends up liking. And get yourself something - this was supposed to be your birthday gift, after all.”

“Um,” Laurent starts, but the card is in his hand and Verandis is already shoving his wallet back into his back pocket.

“I need to head over to the guitar shop to talk to someone. If you boys need me, you know where I am. Keep an eye on Fennorian, alright?” Verandis says, and ruffles Laurent’s hair before turning away.

Leaving him in a very large, very expensive clothing shop with his best friend trying on leather pants and whatever else Verandis sent him in there with. He gets comfortable - the bench isn’t so bad, it’s cushioned - and waits as he hears Fennorian clatter around in the fitting room. After several minutes of this and one soft curse from him, Fennorian unlatches the door and steps out, expecting Verandis to still be there, blinking in confusion as he sees just Laurent.

What Laurent sees, however, is Fennorian in black leather pants and a turtleneck that hugs his neck just tight enough that he can see the way his neck strains as he looks around. 

“Where did my dad…” Fennorian starts, trailing off.

“Guitar shop,” Laurent says quickly, holding up Verandis’s card, “Said he had something to do.”

“Oh.” Fennorian says, tugging at the hem of the turtleneck. “I wanted him to judge this.”

“I think it looks nice.” Laurent says. Internally, his mind is yelling that it looks better than nice, he can see the way Fennorian’s shoulders tug at the fabric, can see the way the leather stretches over his thighs, and --

“--you help me?” Fennorian’s voice breaks through. Laurent clears his throat.

“Yes,” he says, without thinking, “What do you need me to do?”

“I want to see what this looks like tucked in, but--”

Laurent feels his face go hot.

“Can’t reach the back. You know how it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Laurent says, nervous laughter bubbling in his throat. No big deal, no, just his best friend asking him to tuck his tight shirt into tighter pants, his best friend who he’s had a crush on since middle school, feelings he’s been shoving back into the back of his head for years because he doesn’t want to tread over a boundary in their friendship and ruin anything, and…

“Laurent?” Fennorian says, and he clears his throat.

He hurries forward, reaching for the sweater with shaking hands. Fennorian turns, and trying not to focus too hard on what’s happening, Laurent manages to get the fabric of it tucked neatly into the back of his leather pants in a way that almost looks professional. Almost.

Fennorian steps away from him, toward the mirror that hangs over one of the dividing walls. He makes a face, turning to see his sides as he looks himself over.

“Do you think,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Laurent, “That a sleeveless shirt would look good?”

Laurent’s mind goes blank, so he simply nods.

  
  


It takes Fennorian at least another half hour of trying things on before he’s happy with what he’s picked out. By the end of it, Laurent is sitting with his chin held in his hand, elbow on his knee, trying not to focus on the fact that he’s seen Fennorian in no sleeves, tight pants, and one very low cut, loose blouse that shows off his entire chest whenever he moves an arm. 

Laurent makes one comment about the low-cut style, and Fennorian laughs as he quips back that he waited twenty years to have a bare chest, let him have this moment, okay?

He picks out a jacket for himself with Fennorian’s help - a warm bomber-style in a deep, cozy brown color - and they get their things paid for. The cashier recognizes Fennorian and has no qualms about him using Verandis’s card, and by the end of it they have three bags and Laurent is wearing the jacket, hands stuffed into his new pockets.

“I’ll get you some new leggings for New Life,” Fennorian says, holding the bags in one arm. Laurent snorts out a laugh as they head down toward the guitar shop. Through the glass display windows, they see Verandis leaning against the counter, talking to the manager, a long-haired Dunmer man. From outside, the music playing is simply vague thumping. 

They step into the shop and immediately the music is understandable. Verandis is tapping his foot to it, and it takes Fennorian tapping his arm for him to turn around.

“There you boys are!” Verandis says, as though he’s been the one looking for them, “Anyway, thank you again, Rey. Rada’s been meaning to get his cords fixed, but you know how he can be.”

“Stubborn?” The Dunmer laughs, and Verandis nods.

“I’ll be back next week. I should get these boys home.” Verandis puts his hands on his hips, staring down at Laurent and Fennorian, the latter of which holds his card up to him. Verandis takes it and gets it back into his wallet as they head out of the shop.

“You were shopping for Dad?” Fennorian says, and Verandis confirms with a hum.

“Part of his equipment went bad the other day and he’s been trying to fix it rather than just buy new parts. I’ve told him it’s much safer to throw out the bad cord, but…”

“He clings to old stuff.” Fennorian says, matter-of-factly.

“Must be why he likes you, Verandis.” Laurent says, and the look he gets in return is absolutely priceless. 

“You’re walking home,” Verandis says, holding back laughter as he grabs Fennorian’s arm, “Come on, we’re leaving him.”

“Oh, no,” Fennorian laughs, digging his heels in, “He stays, I do, too!”

None of them get left in the mall. 

  
  


The following day, Fennorian asks him if he wants to go get coffee. Laurent agrees, just having finished teaching one of his classes and, well, the coffee shop near the gym center is actually pretty decent. He texts Fennorian to meet him there and gets his coat on, heading outside into the snow and ice to walk down the block. His car is parked behind the gym and he figures he can just head back afterward rather than drive the two minute walk to the shop.

A decent decision, he thinks, breathing in the cold, sharp air. Sure, he prefers the warmer months, but something about winter air is nice. And the new coat is comfortably warm, despite snow gathering in his hair and on his shoulders. He enters the coffee shop through the side door, kicking the snow off his boots and shaking his hair out before he gets past the threshold.

Once inside, the smell of coffee hits him and he sighs, content with the way the day is going. He figures he doesn’t have to wait for Fennorian and goes straight for the counter, getting a spiced tea that the baristas have for him within moments. It’s not very busy at the moment, which is nice - it’s quiet, save for the gentle music playing overhead. Laurent settles into a booth along one wall and gets comfortable. His tea needs time to cool, anyway.

The door chimes open and he looks over, seeing Fennorian making his way inside. He, too, shakes the snow from his hair and gives Laurent a delighted smile before making his way over. 

And he’s wearing those leather pants. Of course he is.

Laurent feels his cheeks go hot and he takes a drink of his still-hot tea on purpose, to give an excuse as to why his face is warm.

“Hey,” Fennorian says, standing beside him, hands in his jacket’s pockets, glasses slightly crooked, “See you beat me here.”

“I was at the gym,” Laurent explains. He looks at Fennorian’s jacket rather than his pants, because that’s the logical thing to do in this situation. 

“Explains things,” Fennorian smiles, “I’ll be right back.”

Laurent waves him off and settles in more comfortably, and after a moment of consideration, takes his jacket off and sets it beside himself. A few minutes pass as he hears Fennorian talk to the barista, who happens to be a cheerful Argonian woman that they’ve both seen numerous times before. When Fennorian finally returns, it’s with a hot drink in his hands and a pleasant smile. He settles in across from Laurent, stretching his legs out under the table.

“These pants,” Fennorian says, “Are going to take some time to wear in.”

Great, Laurent thinks. Means he has to see him in them very often.

But he doesn’t say that. Instead he just laughs.

“I’ve heard that can be a hassle.” He says, and Fennorian finally sits straight up and leans his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand.

“It’s why my dad wanted me to get my own pair,” he explains, “So they fit me better.”

“What, is there a rulebook for leather pants?” Laurent says, laughing.

“Kind of!” Fennorian says, looking down at his coffee. The whipped cream on it is starting to melt into the coffee itself, not that he seems to mind. “You have to take care of them a bit more than other clothes.”

“Interesting.” Laurent says, and watches as Fennorian lifts his cup to take a drink, fogging his glasses in the process. He raises a brow, catching Fennorian’s gaze over the mug and causing him to exhale a laugh, the steam covering his glasses completely.

“Stop that,” Fennorian says, and Laurent says nothing - he just keeps staring, exaggerating as such by nodding his head. 

Fennorian keeps laughing, despite trying not to. He sets his coffee down and covers his face with one hand, looking away from Laurent’s incessant staring. Glancing over every few moments gives him the sight of Laurent staring at him with a wide, gleeful smile, chin resting on one hand. 

Eventually, Laurent breaks and finally looks away, letting Fennorian relax once more as he tries not to laugh too loudly. 

“Sorry,” Laurent says, holding his tea between his hands, soaking in the warmth, “It was funny.”

Eventually, they manage to dissolve into conversation about their respective days - Laurent tells a good quip or two about the classes he taught that day, reflecting on the Khajiit woman who slipped and didn’t land on her feet, and about the Orc man who walked into his yoga lesson looking for the pool.

Fennorian gets a good laugh out of some of them, and Laurent is more than happy to focus on that rather than the stupid tight leather pants that he can’t see over the coffeeshop’s wooden table.

  
  


He doesn’t see Fennorian the day after that - they text each other between work, and Fennorian hints at something for his birthday but won’t tell him what it is. Laurent tells him the jacket is already enough, he doesn’t need anything more, but Fennorian seems intent on bringing over whatever gift he’s picked up. 

From there on out, his day goes fairly normally: he finishes his classes, gets to a one-on-one instruction with someone he’s helping with gymnastics, and heads home without a worry. Dinner is an easy affair since he’s got leftovers from the previous night, and after that he showers and settles down for the night. His brother calls to let him know that he’s headed up that night before the storms get too bad, and by the time he’s finally off the phone with Álvaro it’s far too late for his schedule and he’s tumbling into bed in his boxers, alarm ready and set for the next morning.

Sleep overtakes him unusually fast, pulling him into dreams that feel like they last forever. 

The worst part, of course, is when he dreams about Fennorian.

Wearing those stupid, tight, black leather pants.

The rational side of his brain tells him about all the jokes he and Fennorian make about how flat his ass is, but the absolutely enamored part of his brain reasons that he looks good in them because Laurent is desperately in love with him, has been for years, and that bias means anything can look fantastic on him.

Alright, Laurent will admit, his thighs look good. The leather almost strains against his thighs, and every time he takes a step Laurent can see how it moves against him, and oh god is Fennorian coming toward him?

How do dreams come up with the most outlandish situations, he wonders, because Fennorian is climbing onto his lap and squeezing his sides with his legs, leaning down to whisper affection into his ear as he grinds up against him. Laurent looks up and sees Fennorian smiling at him, hands tangling into his hair, ducking down to press kisses against his neck and jaw. 

_ This doesn’t make sense _ , he thinks, his head spinning. 

Fennorian’s hands slide up his sides, up to his chest, and --

Laurent wakes up. He sits up, face flushed and overheated.

His cock twitches in his boxers when he shifts the blankets, the slightest brush making him shiver.

He stares at the clock, telling him it’s nearly four in the morning, and groans as he tosses his head back down onto his pillow. He’ll have to be up for work in a few hours and get over to the gym, but he’s awake now, and horribly worked up to a point where the only thing he can hope for is to get off and pass out until his alarm goes off.

_ Fuck it _ , he thinks, and rolls over to his bedside table. If he’s going to exhaust himself, he’s going to make sure he does a good job of it. The drawer unlatches with a click and he retrieves what he’s looking for, settling onto one side of his bed with a bottle of lube and a dildo he’s stretched a condom over. 

His plan is, of course, to get off while thinking of anything  _ but  _ Fennorian.

But after stretching himself open and finally fucking himself down onto the toy, all he can think of is his dream, Fennorian’s voice against his ear, complimenting him, the way Fennorian’s thighs squeezed around his hips. 

Maybe this was a bad idea, comes a split-second thought, but as he angles his dildo just right, he loses most of his train of thought. 

The only thing in his head when he finally peaks is Fennorian’s voice, gentle and low, whispering affection to him just like in his dream. He cums with a silent shout, hands shaking as he finishes over his stomach, his toy pressed as far inside of him as he can manage. 

He slips it out from inside of him and takes heaving breaths of air, finally exhausted but….

Guilty. 

_ Damn it,  _ he thinks. He really went and did that, didn’t he?

How’s he supposed to look Fennorian in the eyes after this?

  
  
  


He doesn’t have to look Fennorian in the eyes for the next two days. Work keeps him occupied and then finally, finally the weekend is arriving and he’s had enough time to calm himself down and feel less guilty about what happened. 

In the privacy of his bedroom.

Still. Not something he’s proud of.

Fennorian texts him about coming over for his birthday, and the initial plan is set up that Fennorian will show up and they’ll head out somewhere with his family to have dinner and celebrate his birthday, and then he and Fennorian can head back somewhere and drink whatever leftover rum Álvaro put in Laurent’s cupboards. 

That plan, however, seems to be shot down by the weather.

Álvaro messages him an apology that he’s stuck at their parents’ house because the weather is getting worse and he doesn’t want to risk driving on the roads as they are. Laurent messages as such to Fennorian, who doesn’t respond, and Laurent assumes he’s doing something else. 

What he doesn’t expect is to hear a knock on his door sometime later.

Curious, he peeks through the peephole and sees one snow-covered vampire rocking on his heels, holding a bottle and glancing at his phone. Laurent opens the door quickly, and Fennorian lights up immediately upon seeing him.

“Laurent!” He says, gleeful, “Happy birthday!”

“Fenn! Thank you, woah, you’re--”

Laurent smiles, looking Fennorian up and down and noticing --

Those pants. Those fucking  _ pants  _ again.

“Here. Come inside, it’s freezing.”

Laurent steps aside, opening the door wider for Fennorian to come in. He's covered in snow, shaking his hair out. His glasses are half-fogged, melted snow dripping onto the lenses. But he's wearing those leather pants that made so much trouble for Laurent, and…

He can't be mad about it because Fennorian smiles and he can't help but smile back. Fennorian then lifts up the rather large bottle of liquor in one hand and Laurent blinks at it for a good moment. 

“That,” Laurent says, examining it when Fennorian hands it over, “Looks expensive.”

“Dad gave it to me.” Fennorian explains, shrugging his coat off to reveal a slimming, long-sleeved shirt. “Said he wasn’t going to drink it, so why not?”

“I’m going to have to thank him, this stuff looks  _ way _ better than what Alvie left last time he was here.” 

"I wasn't actually planning on drinking tonight, since I drove, but, he said it’s your birthday and I should bring something nice." Fennorian hangs his coat up and kicks his boots off, tiptoeing over the chunks of snow left from them, "Weather is getting worse, too. Mind if I sleep on your couch tonight?"

"Hey, my couch has been your bed more than once," Laurent laughs, doing his best not to stare at Fennorian's legs as he stretches to step over the wet spot on the floor where the snow has already begun melting.

"Thank you." Fennorian says, and Laurent ushers him over to said couch. Bottle in one hand, Laurent checks his phone with the opposite hand to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. On that thought, he clicks his tongue and shuts his screen off.

"Right, uh. Because of the storm, Alvie texted me a bit ago to say he's staying at my parents' until it lets up."

“I noticed on the way here. Kind of glad I made it in time.” Fennorian says, settling onto the couch. "Did all your siblings come up for this year?"

Laurent sets the bottle onto the coffee table and turns to go get cups for the both of them. He sighs as he answers Fennorian, making a disappointed face as he rummages between his various cups and mugs for something appropriate.

"Sadly, yeah. Rosa has to go back to work tomorrow unless the weather keeps getting bad, and Jackie probably can't stay long either."

"And Cam?"

"Sticking around. They cancelled their plans for the week because  _ they _ actually paid attention to the weather."

"For being the sibling that works with their brawn and not their brain, they seem like the smartest out of all of you, sometimes."

"Hey," Laurent warns as he glares over the island counter, "Are you calling me stupid?"

“I’m not,” Fennorian says, bringing his legs up onto the couch, grinning at Laurent as he returns with two glass cups, “But I’m also saying I’m not the guy who chose to plan to get together with his family when the weather’s been getting worse over the last few days…”

“Alright, okay, I get it, I’m dumb,” Laurent laughs, setting down the cups with a  _ clack _ . “But you’re the one that came over in the middle of a snowstorm.”

“So now I’m dumb,” Fennorian says, his tone playful, and Laurent backtracks immediately.

“No, no, you’re -- you’re like, the smartest guy I know.” Don’t stare at his legs. “Seriously.”

“I was playing around,” Fennorian says, leaning over to reach for the bottle before second-guessing his decision. “Think we should eat before we, uh, start drinking this?”

“Probably,” Laurent says, “I probably have like, a frozen pizza or something.”

“For a man who teaches good habits and is so adamant about keeping his diet in check,” Fennorian starts, and Laurent gently pats him on the head as he goes for the kitchen once more.

“It’s my birthday and I’ll eat what I want.” He says, and Fennorian can’t argue with that.

  
  
  
  


Eventually, they’re settled on the couch, the sky darkening outside with a combination of nightfall and the increasing storm. Wind howls outside but they drown it out with a cheap-looking movie that Laurent pulls up as they eat a just-as-cheap pizza that winds up burnt on one side and only barely done on the other. 

The liquor, as it turns out, is strong. Not that Laurent really cares - he’s allowed to get drunk on his birthday, he reasons. 

The first movie ends with Laurent and Fennorian both arguing with the ending, complaining about the sudden plot change and the characters seeming to fall apart for no reason. With a huff, Laurent switches to a different movie, already halfway drunk, and downs the mouthful of drink in his cup.

Fennorian, on the other hand, is teetering on completely intoxicated, by the way he’s swaying. He reaches for another drink and Laurent covers his hand with his own, giving him a warning look.

“You’re pretty… Um…” He starts, and Fennorian makes a face at him.

“Come on,” whines Fennorian, “It’s good.”

“Don’t want you smashed on my couch,” Laurent says, and grabs the bottle just to keep it away from him. He wobbles slightly and takes a large swig directly from the bottle, and Fennorian does nothing more than pout at him, cheeks and ears flushed pink.

_ Gods, he’s cute when he’s drunk,  _ Laurent thinks. He’s cute all the time, but seeing him with a lopsided smile, trying to pout while his face flushes is…

Downright  _ adorable. _

The bottle gets set back down onto the coffee table and the movie on the screen fades into some sort of new sequence, but Laurent doesn’t pay any mind to it. Instead, he’s caught staring at the way Fennorian’s teeth are worrying his lip, causing it to turn a nice shade of pink.

Without thinking, and without any regard for personal space, he leans in to see better.

In fact, he leans in much too far, realising only when he notices the fade of red-to-blue that Fennorian’s irises show off. He feels a puff of laughter against his face as Fennorian’s hand comes to rest on his chest, fingers pinching the fabric of his shirt. Laurent’s hand winds up on the backrest of the couch, holding himself up in front of Fennorian. 

“Hey,” Fennorian says, his breath warm against Laurent’s lips. His words tumble out of his mouth, slurred slightly. “Little close?” 

“Closer would be better,” Laurent says, his hand gripping the back of the couch. _Did he just say that?_

Fennorian tilts his head back, craning his neck so they brush against each other in the gentlest way possible. 

“Please,” is the next word out of Fennorian’s mouth, and Laurent feels the air puff against his skin.

_ Are you sure, _ he wants to say, but the words don’t happen. Mostly because he’s shifting and pressing closer, meeting Fennorian in a messy, warm kiss. Somewhere in the back of his head he’s screaming that this is happening, he’s kissing Fennorian, and Fennorian is kissing him back and they’re drunk on his couch in the middle of a snowstorm and _ holy shit  _ could his birthday get any better?

It can, apparently, because Fennorian opens his mouth and their kiss goes from warm and gentle to wet and desperate. Hands cling to the back of his shirt, gripping the fabric so tight that Laurent vaguely worries that Fennorian might rip his shirt. Not that he’d care. Not that he  _ could _ care.

He nearly whimpers with the way their kissing deepens, Fennorian’s tongue pressing into his mouth, tasting like expensive alcohol. It’s more aggressive than he ever would have thought Fennorian would kiss, but maybe the lack of sobriety helps with that. Laurent adjusts his posture so he’s sitting on Fennorian’s lap, and Fennorian settles in against the arm of the couch and pulls him closer. His sharp teeth scrape Laurent’s lip in a way that teeters on dangerous, daring to leave a wound if he were to bite down any further than the way he’s teasingly sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

Unconsciously, Laurent starts grinding his hips against Fennorian’s, a reverse of his recent dream, and Fennorian  _ actually  _ reciprocates. Hands slide from his back to his hips, holding him down and it’s such a fantastic turn of events that Laurent can’t bring himself to care that he’s drunk.

They kiss until Laurent’s lips are numb and then Fennorian’s mouth trails from his lips to his jaw, nipping playfully at his skin. Laurent tilts his head back, letting Fennorian kiss along his throat. Spurred on by his forwardness, Laurent lets his hands wander, as well, over Fennorian’s shoulders and into his hair, pulling at it and making Fennorian whine. 

_ Huh,  _ he thinks, distantly, _ didn’t realise he’d be into that. _

Somewhere along the line, their hands wander further until Laurent is undoing the buttons on Fennorian’s stupid tight leather pants, trying to slide his hand down the front of them to get where Fennorian is encouraging him to, rocking his hips upward into his touch. The pants, however, prove far too tight and Laurent gets frustrated, pulling at them until they manage to untangle their limbs and get them down to Fennorian’s thighs. 

Which look just as nice uncovered as they do with the leather over them.

Laurent takes only a moment to admire that, because his focus is on getting his hands on Fennorian. Which is more than he’s ever hoped for to begin with, and more than he ever imagined he’d get. His fingers shake as he slides his hand into the band of Fennorian’s boxers, feeling the heat radiating from him, the dampness where he’s been rubbing against the fabric as he moves.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, fingers finding Fennorian’s clit, already swollen, and he presses his hand against him and rubs, making Fennorian’s legs squeeze together and causing a not-so-dignified sound to escape his lips. Leaning forward, Laurent rests the side of his head against Fennorian’s, listening to the way his breath hitches ever so slightly.

"Laurent," Fennorian whines, pressed against the side of Laurent's face, lips near his ear. The desperation in his voice is possibly the hottest thing Laurent has ever heard, followed very closely by the way Fennorian moans next when Laurent presses a bit more insistently against his clit.

"This good?" Laurent asks, his words half-slurred. Fennorian nods against him, his hips rolling with the way Laurent is rubbing him off. For never having done this before, Laurent gathers that he's doing pretty well.

The alcohol probably helps.

He slips his hand from Fennorian's boxers, pulling away so he can shuffle his way down his body, listening to Fennorian's heavy breathing. Hands slide up Fennorian's sides, raising his shirt so Laurent can press hot, wet kisses against his stomach. 

"I'm gonna suck your dick," Laurent says, and Fennorian whispers out a pleading  _ yes _ , already trying to move to get his pants off further. The leather and their tipsy movements prove difficult, and it takes Laurent and Fennorian's combined focus to get them shoved down. They bunch up at Fennorian's ankle, both of them far too concerned with getting on with things to care.

Laurent kisses his skin again, licking his hipbone, biting gently at any place he can reach. Boxers get the same treatment as the leather pants, and without even thinking, Laurent presses himself between Fennorian's thighs. He's warm and soft and it's so much better than Laurent has ever imagined. 

Which, he’s ashamed to admit he’s ever thought about his best friend having sex with him, but damnit, now’s not that time for that.

He traces his tongue over Fennorian's thigh, making him squirm. Above him, Fennorian lies with his face flushed a deep pink, arms held above his head so he can grip the armrest of the couch. 

And then, with the confidence boost from the booze he's been drinking half the night, Laurent sets himself to work. He goes for the obvious, first, Fennorian's hardened clit. He licks at him, dips his tongue gently into the folds below and then covers him with his mouth, sucking at him insistently. Fennorian makes a surprised sound, covering his mouth with one hand as his hips jerk.

Things fall into a heated rush, after that. Laurent focuses wholly on the way Fennorian encourages him, and at some point his hand tangles into Laurent's hair to pull and guide him deeper, more,  _ please _ . 

He's not sure what he's doing when he slips a finger inside of him, but Fennorian makes no complaint, rocking his hips to take the intrusion gleefully. His drunk brain tells him to take all of the situation in so he never forgets, because gods know if he'll ever get the chance to do this again, and he focuses on committing every sound to memory as Fennorian gasps and tightens around his fingers.

His name falls from Fennorian's lips again, and again, and he thinks he hears a declaration of affection in there somewhere, but his heart is pounding so hard in his ears that he can't make out much. He feels Fennorian tighten more, hears the hitch in his breath and then the desperate half-shout as his hips jerk. The way Fennorian cums becomes his only focus, the whimpering gasps and the way his thighs squeeze Laurent's head as he rolls his hips, grinding into his hands and tongue.

Laurent looks up at him, sees the way he looks absolutely wrecked, and sucks his clit once more, just to hear him gasp again. Fennorian throws his head back, torn between pulling him closer and shoving him back. Ultimately he does neither, simply letting his hand fall limp against Laurent's shoulder as he takes heavy breaths, recomposing himself as best he can.

Silence falls between them. Laurent sits up, desperately hard in his pants and needing to release the stress of it. He moves to get up but Fennorian stops him with a hand on his wrist, pulling him closer once again.

"Let me," Fennorian says, letting go of his hand to reach for his pants, unbuttoning them and Laurent feels his head spin. 

"Yeah," is all he can manage. Fennorian pushes his pants down, palms at him through his boxers. He's already leaked pre onto them, and Fennorian seems to find that amusing as he squeezes him. 

He thinks he must be dreaming this all up as Fennorian's hand slips under his waistband. But he's not, he's simply drunk on his couch getting a handjob from the man he's had feelings for since before he knew what those feelings were. Laurent tucks his face against Fennorian's neck as Fennorian jerks him off, whispering gentle reassurances into his ear. 

"Wanted you," Fennorian says, kissing his ear, nipping at the pointed tip, "For so long."

"Yeah?" Laurent asks, thinking that might just be his favorite word of the night. 

"You're hot," Fennorian whispers, working him faster. Laurent twitches in his grasp, and Fennorian runs his thumb over his tip to play with the wetness that drips so readily. "And my best friend."

Well, if now is the time for any sort of confession, Laurent figures, throwing caution to the wind in his drunken brain…

"I've liked you since," he pauses to moan as Fennorian's hand quickens, "Since middle school."

"Oh my gods," Fennorian breathes, squeezing him. "Me too."

Laurent then does what he thinks is the best course of action. He shifts, sitting up slightly to adjust his angle, legs over Fennorian's hips, and kisses him again. He doesn't hesitate for a second to deepen it, his tongue in Fennorian's mouth, moaning into him as Fennorian's wrist changes angles. 

He feels himself getting close, the tightening in his stomach a warning but he says nothing, simply keeps kissing Fennorian, rolling his hips to fuck his hand instead of forcing him to do the work. Fennorian pulls back from the kiss and goes for his neck, sharp teeth scraping so gently against his skin. 

Laurent whimpers, and Fennorian works a deep mark into his skin, his lips pulling away just as Laurent feels everything come to a peak. He almost wishes it could have lasted longer, but to be fair, it's probably the best orgasm he's had, ever. Because Fennorian is the one helping him, his hand moving faster in time with Laurent's hips to give him that extra stimulation. 

He cums with a desperate sound, Fennorian working him through it until he has nothing left to give, leaving a mess over Fennorian's stomach and shirt. 

He doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems like he wants more, squeezing him one last time for good measure. Laurent makes an embarrassing sound, caught between a gasp and a whimper.

Fennorian's hand withdraws and Laurent shivers. 

He's not sure if he cleans himself up. All he knows is that he passes out with his face tucked against Fennorian's shoulder, nose pressed close to his neck. 

  
  


There's a warm body underneath him. 

Laurent opens his eyes, the sun shining in through the window and making it hard to see,  _ painful _ to see, and waits for his eyes to focus.

Underneath him, that body happens to be Fennorian, who's also stirring weakly, throwing a hand over his eyes to block out the light.

Laurent goes to move and realises his pants are on the floor and his boxers are halfway down his legs and oh god, Fennorian is naked from the waist down and --

"Hurts," Fennorian mumbles. "Light."

It  _ is _ getting worse. Brighter. Laurent clears his throat and stands, pulling his boxers up as he goes for the blinds to shut them, and looks over at Fennorian finally sitting up. He's holding his head and mumbling, noticing the way his clothes are messed up and…

"Laurent," Fennorian says, his voice rough and crackling, "Did we…"

Laurent swallows harshly.

"I... Yeah. I think so." He admits, rubbing his arm. He waits for the words of regret, to hear that Fennorian is going home and never talking to him again.

He doesn't get that.

Instead, he gets Fennorian smiling at him, resting his chin on the backrest of his couch, still half-naked and not making a move to get his pants back on properly.

"Shame I can't remember much of it," Fennorian says, shutting his eyes. 

"What do you mean?" Laurent asks, wandering closer to the couch. Fennorian looks up at him through half-lidded eyes as he comes to a rest at the backrest of the couch. He reaches down, resting his hand on Fennorian's cheek, fingers rubbing into his hairline.

"I…" Fennorian starts, his cheeks red, and Laurent feels his heart skip. Laurent brings his other hand up, then, running his fingers through Fennorian’s hair as he shuts his eyes and relaxes. He doesn’t explain further, but maybe he doesn’t need to for the moment. He’s fine with simply getting comfortable against Laurent’s hands, breathing slow.

But the hangover is kind of making their heads pound.

Laurent pulls back with one more gentle touch to Fennorian’s cheek, making a beeline for his medicine cabinet and the things he needs within. And then he settles next to Fennorian with a large glass of water and downs two pain pills, handing two more over to him and waiting until he’s drunk half the glass, himself.

Things go quiet. Fennorian is still half-naked but doesn’t seem bothered by it. Which is odd, because normally Fennorian is so shy about this sort of thing.

“Can I… use your shower?” Fennorian says, his voice low. Laurent nods, feeling his head pound.

“Yeah. Yeah, and I think… I’ve got an extra toothbrush somewhere, I got a whole pack…” Laurent says, and Fennorian turns to look at him properly.

“Thank you,” he says, quiet, and Laurent tries his best to read the soft expression across his face before he gets up, lifting his foot to free it from his leather pants. Laurent picks them up for him, smiling, and Fennorian leans over to kiss the top of his head.

“Fenn?” He says, and gets a smile in return.

“You -- you want to join me?” Fennorian asks, and Laurent feels his mouth go dry for a second. He blinks, cheeks coloring, and then nods enthusiastically despite the pounding of his hangover.

  
  
  


If there was anything Laurent expected from his birthday, it definitely wasn’t having drunken sex with his best friend on his couch and then having a repeat performance in his shower. The second time is better, he thinks, being able to remember it fully and hearing the way Fennorian cries out as he fingers him until his legs shake and all he can do is cling to Laurent, water running down his back.

And the way Fennorian repeats his name, needy, followed by numerous declarations of ‘I love you’ only serves to make the whole situation so much nicer. The blowjob Fennorian gives him is just  _ perfect _ , and he finds himself so overwhelmed with affection as he stares down at Fennorian’s flushed face that he can’t form words. 

_ Definitely  _ better the second time.

After they actually clean up, brush their teeth with exactly one snarky comment about Fennorian’s fangs, they sit together on the couch once again with towels over their shoulders. Fennorian has a pair of Laurent’s loose shorts on, and one of his baggy t-shirts while his other clothes ( minus the leather pants! ) go through the wash with Laurent’s things. 

And Laurent can’t stop smiling, his cheeks hurt from how happy he is as Fennorian cuddles up to him, content to scroll through something on his phone as they dry off completely.

“So, uh,” Laurent says, breaking the quiet, “Can I assume the.... Words you said in the shower…”

Fennorian flushes, tucking his face against Laurent’s shoulder. 

“Yes,” he says, “I really do. Love you. A lot.” 

“Thank gods,” Laurent says, “Because I’ve been in love with you for way too long.”

They laugh, somehow seeing the humor of it all, and Laurent turns to press his lips against Fennorian’s forehead. It’s so easy to fall into such affection, which Laurent counts as a blessing. He sets his phone aside to spend a moment just admiring Fennorian in his lazy-day clothes, sitting on his couch while snow piles up outside, relentless. It’s comfortable, it feels natural, Laurent realises, that their relationship is so easily escalated to a more intimate level after so long being solely platonic. 

Maybe this was always meant to happen.

His chest feels warm every time he looks at Fennorian, every time he hears him sigh or feels him shift against him. Gently, he shifts to nudge Fennorian as he feels his stomach start to complain that he needs food.

“You want something to eat?” Laurent asks, and Fennorian perks up.

“Absolutely,” he says, glancing at the clock and then at their mess from the previous night sitting on the coffee table. 

“Eggs?” Laurent suggests, and Fennorian blinks up at him. 

“Whatever you have,” he says, content, and Laurent bumps him gently.

“Going to have to let me get up,” he teases, and Fennorian makes a face, nuzzling against his shoulder.

“Then no, I’m fine with biting…” 

“Oh, no,” Laurent laughs, pushing Fennorian so he can get up properly, “I know all about your sneaky vampire tricks.”

“And the supplements,” Fennorian admits, glancing at his coat hanging beside the door, “Which I need to take.”

“I’ll get them for you,” Laurent says, leaning from his standing position to kiss Fennorian, just for a moment. He has to force himself to pull away, else he knows he won’t be able to stop kissing Fennorian long enough to get him anything at all. 

Sure enough, in the pocket of Fennorian’s jacket is a bottle of pills that are labelled for him, supplements of some sort that are supposed to help vampires live a less blood-dependent life. He sets them on the coffee table with a glass of water and heads to the kitchen after that, talking casually with Fennorian as he gets what he needs from his fridge and heats up a pan to cook in.

“So,” Fennorian says, staring over at Laurent as he cooks, only able to see his upper half because of the the island counter in the way, “Us?”

“Us?” Laurent repeats, feeling his heart skip.

“Us.” Fennorian says again. “I… Can I assume that this whole thing means we’re… Us, now?”

“What,” Laurent laughs, gentle, making sure not to break the yolk of the egg he’s cracking, “Boyfriends?”

“That.” Fennorian says, and Laurent turns to see the way he’s smiling, warm and happy and gentle.

“I’d love to be your boyfriend.” Laurent says, watching the eggs go from translucent to white, bubbling in the pan.

“Good.” Fennorian says, “Good.”

Laurent goes quiet, then, focusing on cooking. There’s sausage in his fridge, too, and he might as well use that, too. 

Boyfriend, his mind repeats. He’s Fennorian’s boyfriend.

And Fennorian loves him!

It’s such a fantastic development. He laughs to himself as he slides the eggs onto plates and dumps the sausage into the pan, only needing to heat it through. Fennorian picks his phone up off the coffee table and begins tapping away, humming quietly to himself. Little does Laurent know, he’s quietly updating their relationship on the public profiles they share online, and he types up no explanation for anyone. He taps the post button and shuts his phone screen off, setting it down on the coffee table once more. Just in time as Laurent sits down beside him, handing off a warm plate of eggs and sausage. His phone buzzes three times in succession and Laurent's does just the same.

"What did you do?" Laurent asks, pulling his phone from his pocket to inspect the notifications.

Sure enough, he's been tagged in Fennorian's new status and Lyris has already commented three times, accusing Svana of owing her money as well as congratulating the two of them. 

"Just let everyone know about us." Fennorian smiles, and Laurent laughs.

"Apparently," he says, reading through Lyris's words, "There was a betting pool."

"For us?" Fennorian says, raising a brow in question. Laurent nods.

"And Lyris won. Because of course she did." He shuts his screen off just in time to see Verandis like the post, and it's somehow reassuring. 

"Of course." Fennorian echoes, and Laurent leans over to press a kiss to his face before  _ finally _ settling into his breakfast. 

Of all his birthdays, he thinks this one has turned out the greatest. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> modern au verandis's backstory is from @fennwhorian on twitter!!! i love rockstar verandis and his rockstar husband, rada al-saran


End file.
